


That's the Way (Not) to Do It

by Predatrix



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Sex, Childermass Threatens to Murder Henry Lascelles, Excellent Sex, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M, Spectacularly Awful Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:59:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4533510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Predatrix/pseuds/Predatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Lascelles is a spectacularly awful lay. This is not meant by the author to imply that the Pretty One is invariably awful in bed, but rather that sex engaged in for entirely the wrong reasons is not going to go well.</p><p>It is a kinkmeme fill for the person/s who showed an interest in Lascelles/Norrell (with jealous!Childermass in the background).</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's the Way (Not) to Do It

Lascelles was an unscrupulous bastard. Everybody knew that, whether they liked him or not. Well, Drawlight had a few fancies that Lascelles had a softer side to his friends, and Norrell had his beliefs that Lascelles actually cared about English Magic as something other than a point-scoring exercise, but _mostly_ everyone knew he was an unscrupulous bastard.

Childermass evidently did.

Childermass had _far too much_ influence on Norrell. 

How might Lascelles attain some sort of leverage over England’s premier magician, to consolidate his place and make sure Childermass would be on the way out?

Well, the answer was clear, even if he did not like it. Norrell was not a man for women, and was quite clearly a frustrated, overheated virgin. He would certainly give everything he had to the man who dealt with that.

Accordingly, Lascelles nudged a few innuendos his way, only to be surprised when they sank without trace. He really was an innocent, then. And he spent far too much time looking at books—even looking at his man of business—compared to how much time he spent looking at Lascelles: which was simply objectively _wrong._ Lascelles had excellent form and features, a modish sense of dress, and was certainly the most stylish object Norrell could set his eyes upon in Hanover-square.

Lascelles was put to the trouble of listening to a lot of Norrell’s conversations more actively than he usually did, and not sitting on the sidelines swapping barbed remarks with Drawlight half the time. He found he had to butter him up outrageously—what a fool the man was, not to even notice when he was being approached!—and all he got back most of the time was a shy little smile that was no use to anyone, when anyone else, knowing how the game was played, would be trying to see what he could do to please Lascelles.

He had the joy of overhearing Childermass at one point saying, “I don’t like it, sir. I think he’s up to something.” At least _Childermass_ was up-to-the-mark with what was going on—really, it was a pity that Childermass were not the gentleman, because he was both strong and alert enough to be a decent challenge.

But since the whole _affaire_ was wasting so much of his time, one afternoon Lascelles settled down in a downstairs room (carefully blanking his mind to the fact that although he’d locked the door he wouldn’t mind being overheard, and Childermass was probably in the other room) with Norrell, a few cushions and a sopha.

“Now I rather think I shall make a man of you, Gilbert,” said Lascelles, pitching his voice to carry, and feeling just a little smug that he’d stolen a march on the encroaching John Childermass in at least one area. He doubted Norrell’s eye would be looking toward Childermass after this.

Norrell was shy enough he seemed to need to be instructed through everything, from the preliminary fondling to the application of sufficient warm oil. Lascelles wasn’t within hailing distance of an erection throughout, and had to keep shoving Norrell’s hands away. He’d have assumed Norrell would be ready to spill as soon as he was properly seated (if not before), if he was that inexperienced, but he kept thrusting, as if he wasn’t quite there yet, so Lascelles was put to more trouble. He shut his eyes and imitated some sort of eager noises, and Norrell gasped and came in him, one little shudder and done.

Lascelles was incensed that all the effort had had so little result, and determined to spend the evening fucking Drawlight—which would give him no social pull whatsoever, but at least _Drawlight_ knew his way round a man’s body. Should do, considering how many he’d had.

The best bit, of course, was when Norrell left the room, and Lascelles watched Childermass see him walking with the slight, unmistakable strut of a man who was no longer a virgin.

Childermass glared at Lascelles as if he wanted to strangle him, and Lascelles gave him his best “so the best man won” glance.

 

 

Childermass could have told him not to count the battles till the end of the war.

He managed to get, and steam open, a letter from Lascelles to Drawlight, feeling fairly sure it would throw light upon his pursuit of Norrell, and so it did.

Lascelles was bluntly straightforward on how much work it was to approach somebody so unattractive, “at least, taking the lower position, I did not have to look at him,” how irritating it was to have to keep coaxing somebody so nervous, how much he _did not like_ Norrell and would have preferred to be better-placed in society, “if Mr Strange had had such interests, at least he’s somewhat more of a Town gentleman, not a Yorkshire rustic,” and how much hard work for little reward the whole thing had been (he had not deigned to put down his thoughts about Childermass, that being in the way of a private diversion).

Childermass carefully placed the letter where it would have ended up if it had carelessly slipped between the pages of a book—and made sure it was where somebody happening upon it would begin to read without actually trying.

He was sorry for it when he came back, and found Norrell sitting in front of the letter as if his world had fallen apart. He slipped an arm round him and said, “Tell me, sir?” in his most coaxing way.

Norrell did, even saying, “I thought he liked me. I should have been less of a fool. I don’t think _anybody_ could like me,” and Childermass laughed gently in his ear (liking that Norrell shivered a bit at the intimacy of the gesture) and said, “Don’t be so dramatic, sir. You wouldn’t want to be liked by somebody like who he turned out to be.”

Norrell put his arms round Childermass, shyly, and admitted maybe not.

Childermass nibbled on his neck a bit and got a startled little moan out of him. “I bet you’re a hot little thing when you get going,” he murmured, “and I doubt our Henry saw any of that.”

Norrell sighed. “I just assumed the…the act doesn’t feel as good as people suggested. Maybe I can’t manage ‘hot’?”

“Well, not if it’s with someone who doesn’t like you, doesn’t want you, and barely takes any pains. I could have told you that,” said Childermass, pulling Norrell against him further and stroking him through his breeches (rather pleased that Norrell’s lack of fashion meant that the old breeches were both soft and thin and not much impediment to a wandering hand’s being felt).

Norrell’s prick stirred immediately, yet he kept quiet-but-attentive for a few minutes (and Childermass silently cursed Henry Lascelles for teaching him self-consciousness). After a while Norrell’s head fell back against Childermass’s shoulder, and he panted.

“That’s what you like, is it?” Childermass murmured, in his deepest bedroom voice, and Norrell gasped, “Please, I’m _so_ hard!”

“Let’s get you ready, then,” said Childermass, and undid his breeches. “There we go. Does that greedy prick of yours need a rub-and-a-squeeze to finish off?” suiting the action to the words, and Norrell said something like, “oh, nnngh, _more,_ aaaah!” and came off all over him.

Childermass waited to make sure he’d finished, and wiped his hand off. “Still feel the act is overrated?” he suggested.

“Obviously….didn’t know…what I was talking about!” said Norrell, once he’d got his breath back a bit. “Can I do you now?” He paused. “I mean, if you like it?” he added rather doubtfully. “Lascelles didn’t seem to want anything much.”

Childermass took his hand and said, “Feel this?” directing Norrell’s attention to the bulge at his own crotch. “That’s how I feel after doing you. And, if it’s not obvious, it’s bloody desperate for your hand on it.”

Norrell squinted. “Are you sure it will _fit?”_

Childermass said, “What?”

“My hands are too small,” Norrell said, undoing him and rather shakily drawing a finger up his length. Then he lowered his face to it, kissing along him. “You won’t fit—even if I use both hands, _and_ my mouth. There’s just too much of you for any reasonable purpose,” he added, slightly muffled.

“Did you miss the part about ‘bloody desperate?’” Childermass managed, rather tightly.

Norrell said, “Well, I shall just have to try my best, then,” and applied himself as best he could, with a slightly nervous squeak as Childermass surged forward into his hands and mouth. Childermass wasn’t entirely sure it would be quite welcome to spend now, not without being sure Norrell could manage him, but he couldn’t have held back for another second, and he snarled a little with the ache of it as the pleasure went streaming through him.

Norrell took the lot, although it left his face looking red and wonderfully wrecked as he came up, gasping for breath and shivering. The expression on his face resolved into a small, conscious smile. “So I _can_ do it,” he said, as if to himself, and Childermass drew him into a hug. “If he weren’t such a fool, Henry Lascelles would have done a proper job,” he said. “Just as well he left you to me.”

 

A week or so later, they’d had each other in every reasonably-uninhabited room of the house at Hanover-square, and Norrell was beginning to drop increasingly-pointed hints about relieving him of what was left of his virginity (he was tired of the whole thing by this time, and he kept saying that he didn’t want Lascelles to play such a significant part, so it was fine by him if Lascelles did the first bit of taking his virginity while Childermass managed all the rest of it).

Childermass, who would deny him very little by this time, got a pot of fine thick salve for lubrication (oil was good enough for hands, but as Norrell had pointed out, he wasn’t small) and took him to bed (Norrell’s bed, which was bigger).

There he made Norrell put his arms out and tied him in place with a few rags of old sheets—“You’re going to keep still whether you mean to or not,” he explained—and began to prepare him.

Norrell indignantly used a number of words Childermass was moderately surprised he knew, and tested the strength of his bonds. They held, while Childermass kept stroking the salve into him. Finally, Childermass put quite a lot of the salve onto his prick (managing not to come), and slid into place, just the tip at the edge of going in.

Norrell shivered, and went completely still.

“That’s right, sir,” said Childermass, and rocked back and forth a little, just accustoming him, before managing a few shallow thrusts, trying to find just the right spot…

Norrell cried out, a sharp yelp of shocked pleasure.

…there it was, and he kept rubbing and thrusting, letting himself go deeper now he’d given him a taste of what it was about, and Norrell snarled, “Damn you, get a hand on me!” and he remembered Norrell was tied and couldn’t take care of himself. He went as deep as he could get, and reached for Norrell with much rougher handling than he usually did. Norrell’s prick jerked in his hand, and his arse clenched greedily around Childermass’s prick. They both didn’t manage more than grunting as they went right over the edge of it, but Childermass doubted there’d be any complaints.

Both of them collapsed. A few minutes later, Norrell’s hands jerked in their bonds, and Childermass said, “Give me…a minute,” because he felt entirely unequal to voluntary movement, and Norrell laughed shakily and said, “The way I feel right now, you can _keep_ me tied up, if you can fuck me like that.”

Ten minutes later, Childermass untied Norrell, cleaned them both up and pulled Norrell into his arms for a cuddle. They both slept very well.

 

 

Lascelles had shown Childermass Norrell strutting because he’d lost his virginity.

Childermass showed Lascelles Norrell barely able to walk straight for a week after being fucked.

In case Lascelles had any stupid ideas about using this new knowledge, Childermass followed him home one night and materialised out of the evening outside Lascelles’ front door. “Mr Norrell is a true magician…sir. I just have a few of my own tricks, and as you can see, I’m shadow-crafty enough to follow, and appear, and disappear.” He paused. “If you ever offer true challenge to my master, I can be in the shadows when you least expect me, and I can kill you with my hands.” He paused again. “No, I should not enjoy it the way you probably would, but I can destroy anyone that threatens me and mine.” And he bowed his head slightly, mockingly, in a way that was certainly not like a servant, and left.


End file.
